


Visions

by MrProphet



Category: Visionaries: Knights of the Magical Light
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-22 22:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10706640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrProphet/pseuds/MrProphet





	1. Chapter 1

First there was the Cataclysm; the day when the three suns aligned and the world changed. At the time, what Heksyl really noticed was that his games console stopped working, but soon even the children began to realise that things would never be the same.  
With the school computers out and the shuttles down, the teachers scraped together what knowledge they could and taught whichever pupils made the journey on foot in their cold, dark buildings. Very few made the effort and soon the streets of Valaric were overrun by gangs of teenagers. 

Heksyl joined one of these gangs in its earliest days and soon established himself as a force to be reckoned with. He could run faster, climb higher and fight harder than any of the bigger boys, and his ready wit and good looks made him a hit with the girls. He was one of the first to stop going home and move his gang into one of the many abandoned buildings in the capital. That was how he got the name he would use for the rest of his life: Feryl.

The city decayed. First came the rats, then the rot. Grass began to grow back through concrete and tree roots undercut foundations. As the buildings collapsed, the larger animals moved in. The street gangs became hunters and Feryl was the best of them once again.

Finally, in the north the city rose again. It had been almost a decade since Valarak fell when the first towers of New Valarak rose and Lord Leoric vowed to bring order back to the land. This was hardly good news for the gangs, and when Ectar’s police militia came back to the old city many of them moved south. They set up a frontier and declared that all beyond the boundary was to be the Anarchy Zone, a place with no law but that of the blade and the bow.

When word came that Ectar’s militia was moving on their den, Feryl’s gang prepared to move out, but Feryl was nowhere to be seen. His lieutenants were not slow to take charge, and only one person actually went looking for him.

She found him in his quiet place; the balcony of a fallen skyscraper, one of the few high places in the city that had not yet fallen down.

“Feryl,” she called softly. “They’re coming.”

“I know, Cyn,” he replied. “I can see them.” He held out his hand and she moved to his side, pressing herself against him. He pushed his head against her shoulder and kissed her cheek.

“We’re leaving,” she said, “heading into the Zone. You can be great there.” She stroked his hair.

“I could be dead there,” he replied. “Come with me; there’s something I want to be.”

Quick and agile he sprang from the balcony and leaped and slithered down the canted wall of the skyscraper, catching his fall on ledges and window frames until he could spring neatly to the ground. Cyn took a deep breath and followed him, stumbling at the last and falling into his arms.

Feryl grinned at Cyn, steadied her and grasped her hand. He ran through the streets, laughing wildly, until he reached the militia line moving through the sector. 

Five constables reached for their truncheons. Feryl sprang with a wild laugh and knocked the first down. Cyn swept the legs from under a second and kicked a third in the chest, while Feryl dropped the other two with swift blows of feet and fists.

“Anarchist scum!” one of the fallen men hissed. Cyn drew her belt knife and lunged at him, but Feryl caught her wrist.

“Let me go!” she snarled.

“You’ve never killed anyone, Cyn; don’t start now,” Feryl cautioned. “You!” he told the man. “Tell Ectar I want to see him. If he’s the man they say, he’ll know where.”

*

They stopped in the shelter of fallen house.

“You’re insane!” Cyn snapped. “And when did you get soft? You’ve killed before now.”

“Gang killers, slashers and psyks,” he replied. “Never anyone fighting for their turf, and that’s what they’re doing.”

“This is  _our_  turf!” Cyn argued.

Feryl shook his head. “The turf they’re fighting for is up here.” He tapped a finger to his temple. “You see, I’ve been thinking about it, and what have we been doing here?”

“Whatever we need to,” Cyn replied.

“Exactly. We’ve been  _surviving_ , and doing it well. But that time is over, Cyn; it’s time for something new.”

“Yes; the Zones. What brought this on?”

“Kara,” Feryl replied.

Cyn was silent for a long time. “Kara? You know what we need to do about Kara. She killed Spark; she has to die.”

“And then what? If we kill Kara, what will Nactos do? If we kill Nactos to make sure, what will Pyro do? And if we wipe out the whole SteelCorp Tower gang, what will the other gangs do?”

“They’ll know we’re the force to be reckoned with!”

“Or a threat to be wiped out. That’s what the Zones stand for, Cyn. No rules; only strength and fear.”

“And what else is there?” Cyn demanded.

“The militia is still well-short of SteelCorp Tower. With our help, they could go straight through abandoned territory and round up the whole lot; bring them to trial for Spark’s death.” 

"And then what?”

“There’s an alternative to the Zones, Cyn. We were strong when we needed to be strong; we lived by our wits because we needed to be smart. But this is different. Now it’s time for us to  _choose_  our way forward.”

“What alternative?” Cyn demanded.

“We need to choose between  _order_  and  _anarchy_ ,” he told her. “We have proved that we  _can_  live this way, but we don’t have to. I don’t  _want_  to. I don’t want to have to fight everyone who wants my spot and I don’t want you to have to fight every day to prove you don’t belong to any man.” He kissed her. “I’m going to New Valarak and I want you to come with me.”

Cyn pulled away from him. “You’re mad!” she snapped. “They’re what we’re running from.”

“Only if we choose it,” he told her.

She shook her head. “You’ll see,” she said. “You’ll join us. I’ll be waiting,” she added.

“Don’t,” he told her. “Don’t go; but if you go, don’t wait.”

“You belong with us,” she assured him. “You’ll see.”

Feryl watched her go for a moment, then tipped his head to one side. “Let her go,” he said. “You know what I can offer, but she goes free.”

“As you wish.” Ectar jumped down from the wall behind Feryl. “Anything else you want?”

Feryl shrugged. “I’ll serve any time you think right, but after that… I want in. I want to join you. That’s my choice. I choose order.”

“You choose justice over revenge, Heksyl,” Ectar told him. “That makes you okay by me.”

“Then tell me what you need from me. Oh; and my name. It’s still Feryl.”


	2. The Healer's Prologue and Tale

Iron Mountain dominated the horizon now, although it was still many miles away. The slow trickle of knights approaching the mountain was beginning to form into streams as they grew closer. Some were joining together in bands for mutual protection and gain, while others had decided that a better way to secure their own success was to eliminate the competition. Only that morning, Galadria had been obliged to educate a southern knight who thought a woman would be an easy target. It was a relief to be able to take company with a group of stalwart northerners whose open faces held no trace of duplicity.

She had met them just after noon and shared a meal with them, and then travelled in their company for the rest of the afternoon. For most of that time she had been watching their leader closely.

When they stopped to rest he came over to her side. “I think I must be a lucky man,” he whispered. “You’ve hardly taken your eyes off me all day, Galadria.”

“That was my job before the Great Cataclysm,” she said.

“Watching men?”

“No, Cryotek, although most men need keeping an eye on. I was an EMT in Androsia. Before the Cataclysm I rode an ambulance and I was training to be a doctor. Since then I’ve worked to build up the Hospice there and trained to fight to defend it.”

“You need to defend a hospital?” Cryotek asked, appalled.

“We have stores of medicine still; there are many people who wish to take them away from us. But I know an injured man when I see one, Cryotek. Will you let me look at your leg?”

“As you wish,” he agreed. “And I still say I’m the luckiest man on Prysmos.”

As she dressed his wound – a deep cut received in an ambush a few days before – they talked more about their past. Despite Galadria’s best efforts, Cryotek’s questions kept coming back to the same place.

“No,” she said at last.

“Really? How can that be?”

Galadria shook her head. “Don’t,” she begged. “You are a good man, Cryotek, but I do not want to hear that now.”

Cryotek held up his hands in apology. “Sorry, Galadria,” he said. “Was it… Was it the Cataclysm?”

Again, Galadria shook her head. “It was before that.” She tied off the bandage and sat back.

*

‘While I was working as an EMT I met Dr Ularic. He was an ER resident and so we met regularly, if briefly. He was handsome and a very good doctor and, because we worked a lot of late nights, we got into a routine of having breakfast together after our shifts. We got on really well, but before the relationship went any further, I was put on temporary transfer to another hospital in Sophronis.

‘I was going to be away for a year, so we agreed that there should be no strings. Whatever we said, I thought about him a lot while I was gone. I wrote to him and he wrote back… at first, then his letters got shorter and the gaps between them got longer.

‘Still, he didn’t mention anyone else, so I thought it must just be time and distance taking their toll. I had some leave coming up and I took a trip back to Androsia to visit him. I didn’t let him know I was coming. Perhaps I should have done; perhaps I was hoping to catch him out. I don’t know.

‘I went to the hospital at four in the morning, to meet him off his shift. And of course I saw him coming out of the ER with another woman. It might not have been so bad but…

‘I knew Virulina only too well. She was a parasite who lived on other people’s pain. She was a professional ambulance chaser, the queen of the sob story; a journalist with a real knack for getting victims of crime and misfortune to cry on camera.

‘We’d only ever spoken once, although I’d seen her about the ER or on my rounds often enough. It was when I’d just lost a patient, the victim of a drug-related stabbing. You know the kind of stupid, senseless attack we used to get in those days? When friends would knife each other over a personal teletalker.

‘Anyway, she swanned up in the middle of a slum clearance, all designer shoes and expensive cologne, and actually had the nerve to ask me how it felt to have someone’s blood on my hands.

‘I couldn’t think of a retort – the answer, by the way, was that I felt like a failure, even though there was nothing I could have done – so I punched her in the eye so hard I knocked her into a pile of kitchen waste. She tried to get me sacked then, but the network pitched it as a comedy clipping all year and made her look like a fool, so she didn’’t like me anymore than I liked her.

‘I confronted them in the coffee shop where he and I had always had breakfast. We argued. I shouted and made a fool of myself, he blustered and looked embarrassed; she just smiled. The next day there was an anonymous story on the news about the unprofessional behaviour of certain members of the hospital staff and I was sent back to Sophronis.

‘Perhaps I should have let it lie, but I just couldn’t. I wouldn’t let her keep him. I quit my job and went back to Androsia again.

‘This time, when I confronted him, he admitted that she’d latched onto him when he was feeling weak. He begged me to forgive him and, like a fool, I did. I moved in with him while I was trying to get my old job back.

‘They let me come back, but as soon as I was on nights, they moved Ularic to days. When I went days, he was back on nights. I guess they wanted to avoid any nasty spats in public by making sure we never saw each other. It didn’t quite work out like that.

‘One day I came down sick and had to go home early. You can probably guess what I found.

‘Ularic swore it hadn’t happened before, which was neither convincing nor any consolation. The worst of it wasn’t him, it was her. When she saw me, she smiled so coldly… I knew that she wasn’t interested in Ularic; she was doing this to get at me.

‘I walked out and left them. Thirty seconds later the suns aligned, the sky turned black and a skyliner crashed into the apartment block. I ran back to help, but I never saw Ularic in all that rubble.

‘I saw Virulina, though. She was staring at the devastation as though all her festival days had come at once. I just wish I could have seen her expression when she realised she was never going to get her face broadcast to ten million adoring viewers again.’

*

“I’m sorry,” Cryotek said.

“Don’t be. You’re not Ularic and you’re certainly not Virulina. She’ll be here somewhere,” she added. “She was running one of the gangs in Androsia who raided the Hospice for drugs, and if there’s power to be had, she’ll want in on it.”

“Who knows; maybe you’ll have a chance to even old scores.”

Once more, Galadria replied with a shake of her head. “I don’t bear grudges. If I did, I’d end up as sour-faced as Virulina. But she’ll be there, and she’ll have scores to settle, or think she does at least. I just hope she doesn’t destroy any more lives trying to get to me.”


	3. Kiss and Tell

The Androsar Plain swept out from the cliffs of Zaarbus to the great river Greigen, then on to the Andros Coast in broad swathes of verdant grass, rich pasture and fertile fields. At the coast the topless, silver towers of Androsia watched over a thriving port and the rich fields to landward. In the shadow of the cliffs the grasslands and grazing land lay safe beneath the protection of the cavern-hall of Zaarba. Between these two domains of light, however, stood the citadel of Virulis; a huddle of slums and factories clustered around a shining palace on the Greigen estuary.

It was over this den of iniquity – and its lord – that Arzon of Zaarba watched with his eagle eyes as he circled in his totem form. To have such a wretched hive of scum and villainy on his doorstep was a source of constant shame, but so long as the Darkling Lord Virulina held sway over Virulis – in an act of supreme and characteristic vanity, she had renamed the city of Greige – it was impossible to affect any lasting improvement.

From close to a mile up, Arzon could still pick out individual people on the ground and he scanned for the characteristic blood-red armour of Virulina. Of the Lord of Virulis there was no sign, but one figure did catch his eye; a white-clad figure, a lone, pale speck moving away from the palace and through the filthy streets of the slum town. For a woman, rich, to walk on those streets this close to sunset was little better than suicide.

Sure enough, even as Arzon watched two dark-clad figures – rough and wary, far more typical of the slums – emerged from the shadows and began to tail the woman. A moment later a third man stepped out to bar her way. She tried to retreat, but the followers moved in to seize her arms.

Arzon stooped out of the sky, dropping like a stone. As he plunged down his keen eyes began to pick out details: the woman had a strong figure for a lady-in-waiting and long black hair beneath her wimple; the lead robber had a scar across his face; one of the men holding the lady was as bald as a coot and other was missing an ear.

Arzon struck the bald man first, still in his totem form; almost two hundred pounds of giant eagle slamming the footpad against the cobbles. With barely a pause, Arzon transformed into his human shape and drove his fist into Scarface’s nose.

One-Ear thrust the lady to the ground and drew a knife. Arzon caught up the four-headed axe from his belt and caught the attacker’s knife between the blades, twisting it from One-Ear’s grip. He kicked One-Ear in the chest; the footpad stumbled away and ran.

“Not so brave against a knight, are you!” Arzon laughed. A shadow moved at the edge of his vision and he ducked just in time to avoid the brunt of Scarface’s blow. The footpad’s club clipped the side of his head instead of caving it in.

Scarface lifted his club and moved in for the killed, but staggered hard, his knee collapsing under him. Arzon surged up and knocked the man down. Scarface sprawled across the cobbles and lay still. Checking quickly to make sure that the third man was down, Arzon stepped past Scarface and offered his hand to the lady. As he helped her up she kept her face downcast, but he saw that she was pretty, with a pale face and bright, crafty eyes. Something about her seemed familiar, but before he could place it her ankle turned and she stumbled against him.

She fell against his armoured chest and hooked one arm around his neck for support. Her face turned up as he stooped beneath her weight and, almost involuntarily, he fixed his lips on hers. For a moment she recoiled, but before he could release her the reluctance was gone and her arms were locked tight around his neck, her mouth pushed hard against his. He tried again to pull back, but his heart was not in it and he let the lady hold him close.

At last the kiss broke, leaving Arzon breathless and dizzy. The lady stepped back and, as her hungry mouth twisted into a smile of sardonic amusement the expression laid a new cast upon her entire face.

“Virulina?” Arzon gasped in horror.

“Why, Arzon; I never knew you had it in you,” the Lady of Virulis chuckled. “I thought you preferred to watch me from on high, never taking the risk of… touching.” Almost tentatively she reached out to lay a hand on his cheek. “I’m surprised at you, Spectral Knight; but hardly disappointed.”

Arzon stumbled away from her. “No!” he gasped.

“Arzon!” Virulina pouted, touching her fingers to her lips. “Then you meant nothing by that kiss?” Tears shimmered in her cunning, green eyes and Arzon fled from their recrimination, taking to the air in his totem form.

Virulina watched him fly away towards Zaarba and, slowly, the smile returned to her face. “Men,” she chuckled.

Behind her, One-Ear stepped from the shadows, a second knife in his hand. “No knight to save you now,” he growled.

Virulina glanced over her shoulder and smiled sweetly. “You imagine that his presence was protecting  _me_?” 

One-Ear charged and was met with a kick which blasted the breath from his body. He dropped like a sack of wet sand and his knife clattered across the cobbles.

“After all,” Virulina went on, “I would hardly have hired you to attack me if you presented the slightest threat to my person.” She drew a dagger from the folds of her skirt. “Of course, if I kill you now then I won’t even have to pay you.”

Gasping for breath, One-Ear held out a hand in supplication while the other clawed at his windpipe. He backpedalled furiously, trying to get as far from Virulina as possible. “My Lady?” he croaked.

Virulina gave a whistle and guards emerged from the alleys, from shop doorways; even from a sewer grate. “Take them away,” she ordered, returning her blade to its sheath and reclaiming her other dagger from the back of Scarface’s knee. “Find a dungeon that is deeper and darker and nastier than any other in the city and throw them into it. We don’t want them crawling back out to claim that they laid their filthy hands on my person.”

She scanned the sky for a long moment before turning and stalking back towards the citadel. As she walked, an older woman came out of a shop and fell into step beside her.

“You were watching, Madame Gilet? And how did I do?”

“A perfect performance, my Lady,” Gilet assured her. “The stumble was as natural as any I ever managed; Lord Arzon believed that he initiated the kiss as surely as any actor or sportsman I ever fell into.”

Virulina laughed. “You flatter me, Madame, but you were always an artist; I am but a humble artisan. The careers you ended, the reputations you destroyed; the hypocrisies you exposed.”

“You’ll make an old kiss-and-tell girl blush going on like that,” Madame Gilet laughed, showing no sign of shame or self-consciousness. “They did most of it themselves; I just arranged the trip… and the photographs. Speaking of which, My Lady, I do not quite understand the purpose of all this. So much trouble and training, and with no photographers there is no proof to present to the public, and no mass media to distribute it if there was. How then can you break Lord Arzon’s reputation?”

“Oh, I am playing a new game. I have no intention of breaking Arzon’s reputation; only of breaking  _him_. He has kissed me, Madame; he will be back.”

Madame Gilet laughed out loud. “I have always admired your confidence, but do you believe that even  _you_  can damn a man with one kiss?”

Virulina looked to the sky with a demonic smile. “He set the trap for himself when he began to spy on me. Besides, you should know Madame, that every fall starts with a single slip. And my eagle has so  _very_  far to fall.”


	4. Hurt

Cryotek knew Galadria’s knock well enough. He opened the door of his chambers in New Valarek with some trepidation and a part of him wished that he had already headed back to Northalia.

“Galadria,” he said warily.

“Cryotek.” She had shed her armour and was dressed in a suit of white cotton and a soft, leather jerkin. It suited her well. “Cryotek,” she said again. “I’m a woman.”

Cryotek was lost. “Um… yes,” he agreed.

“A woman has needs, Cryotek,” Galadria went on. “Deep, basic, primitive needs that have to be fulfilled, otherwise she just… goes mad.”

“Right.” Cryotek took a step away from Galadria.

She seemed to take this as an invitation and followed him into his room. “Cryotek,” she said again. “I need something from you. I need… a dress.”

“My… address?”

“No, Cryotek,” Galadria chuckled. “I know your address, it’s the great big keep in the middle of Northalia. I need a dress; for Leoric’s party.”

“Oh. And you can’t sew.”

“I can suture,” she offered, “but no. I hoped you could…”

“Of course,” Cryotek said. “Although you know that there are seamstresses in New Valarek.”

Galadria sat down on the end of Cryotek’s bed. “I know, but it’s been hard for me to be accepted… as a warrior-woman, I mean.”

“What do you mean?” Cryotek demanded. “None of the Spectral Knights doubts your ability.”

“It’s not about my ability,” Galadria explained. “I don’t have a problem with warriors; it’s other women who seem to feel I’m... letting the side down.”

“Why?” Cryotek asked.

She shook her head sadly. “All they care about is looking pretty, and they resent me because I don’t do the same. I used to get the same thing when I was an EMT,” she admitted.

“That’s ridiculous! You have a great heart, Galadria; how could anyone resent your goodness?”

Galadria smiled gratefully. “If I understood that, I wouldn’t have been an EMT in the first place. After millennia this planet was just starting to emerge from a dark age of patriarchal habits when the suns converged and a dozen cults started claiming that women in trousers had destroyed the machines. It's not everyone or everywhere; Androsia is much better than New Valarak and New Valarak is better than a lot of places.

"Anyway; if I go to one of those silly seamstresses for a dress, they’ll only laugh at me.”

“Aren’t there any sensible seamstresses?”

“Probably; but I was never any good at buying clothes anyway. Even the shop assistants we had before the Cataclysm made me feel stupid. I can only ask you because I trust you.”

“I’m flattered,” Cryotek said. “I’ll do what I can to make you look…  _more_  beautiful.”

Galadria blushed. “There was something else,” she said. “About the ball.”

“Yes?”

“Well, a girl doesn’t just need a dress for something like this. She’s expected to accessorise.”

“Oh!” Cryotek realised. “I’m sorry, Galadria. I can’t do hats.”

“Not just the hat,” she sighed. “You need gloves, a fan… a date.”

Cryotek was astonished. “You mean, you don’t have…? But I would have thought you’d have plenty of offers.”

“I’ve had a few,” she agreed, “but I haven’t accepted any of them. I’m still waiting for the right one.”

“Oh.”

“Is that all you want to say?” Galadria wondered. A look of nervous concern crossed her face. “Are you… going with anyone?”

Cryotek shook his head. “I wasn’t going at all. I really need to go back to Northalia,” he explained. “What we’re doing here is important, but my own people have enemies and they’ll make their move if I’m away too long.”

“But it’s Leoric’s betrothal ball,” Galadria protested.

“I k now, but my people…”

“If it’s bad, I could come with you,” Galadria offered. “Forget the ball and he dress…”

“No!” Cryotek protested. “I already know what I’m making; you wouldn’t want to miss that.”

“But you will.”

He shrugged. “You’ll need to try it on for me.”

“Cryotek, you know what I’m asking.”

Cryotek shook his head. “You know I can’t.”

“No,” she disagreed. “I know you  _won’t_.”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said.

“Really?” she asked. “Because you are. Leoric is being formally betrothed, Cryotek. When the Spectral Knights first swore their oath of fellowship, I thought we’d be the first to do that.  _That_  hurts; to be disappointed that way.”

“But… before,” he protested. “I hurt you. There were bruises.”

Galadria shrugged. “I’m fair-skinned. I bruise easily.” She stood up and faced him. “But I wasn’t the only one who was bruised and I wasn’t badly hurt, and you staying away from me is breaking my heart.”

Cryotek looked stricken. “I thought…”

“That you were doing the right thing?” Galadria asked. “Did you think of asking what I wanted?”

The big man stared at his hands. “I hurt someone before. I didn’t mean to, but…”

“I’m tougher than that.”

Cryotek looked up and met her gaze. “Do you… really want to come to Northalia with me?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Well, not yet,” she replied. “What I want is for you to see me in that dress.”

“I’d like that,” he said.

“And then maybe out of it,” she added.

“But I might…”

“I trust you, Cryotek,” Galadria said again. “I want you, and I  _love_  you, but I don’t need your protection, least of all from yourself.”

Cryotek gazed at Galadria, drinking in the sight of her. At last, he smiled. He put a hand to her face. His touch was gentle, but she pushed her cheek fiercely against his palm.

“I would hate to miss it,” he admitted.

“Miss what?”

“The sight of all those silly seamstresses when they realise how beautiful you really are,” he whispered, and she kissed him so hard it bruised his lips.


	5. The Mighty

_”Just leave it!” the site foreman demanded. “We’re on a schedule here!”  
_

_“I can reach it.”  
_

_“It’s not worth it!” the foreman insisted, but he chose not to press the point. It was, he felt, better not to anger anyone quite that big._

“Hello, Niska.”

Niska spun sharply, catching her breath in alarm. She took a step away, but the wall was at her back. Edral stroked his pointed beard and smiled at her discomfort.

“Have you thought about my offer?” he asked, advancing slowly.

“What offer?” Niska spat back. “All you’ve given me are demands.” She tried to dodge past him, feinting left and then running right, but he tripped her with his foot and laughed as she sprawled on the floor. Niska pressed her face into her arms, determined not to let him see her cry.

_The big man straightened up, a tiny bundle of fur held gently in his arms. Moving with exaggerated care, he picked his way back towards the edge of the site.  
_

_The foreman shook his head. “Just get the stupid animal off my site,” he snapped. “Chief! Get those charges ready to blow.”  
_

_“There might be more,” the big man argued.  
_

_“I don’t care, Cindarr,” the foreman told him. “With all the noise you useless lumps have been making, if they haven’t run off days ago it’s their own fault. Now get the loader down to the base of the building; there’ll be a lot to pick up once we blow the charges.”  
_

_The big man nodded slowly. “Yes, boss,” he agreed._

Niska struggled up and Edral caught her arms. “You can’t fight me, Niska,” he told her. “Even if you win, I’m a guardsman and you’re just a serving wench. If you hit me, I can have your whole family turned out of their home.”

“I don’t have a family,” Niska hissed and she stamped down hard on the inside of Edral’s foot. As he recoiled in pain she twisted free of his grasp and stumbled into a run. She fled towards the end of the corridor, but a thrown knife slammed into the wall in front of her.

“Come back here, wench!” Edral snarled.

Reluctantly, Niska turned. The guardsman had drawn a second knife and held it ready. As soon as Niska’s eyes were on him he threw the blade so that it pinned the sleeve of her dress to the wall.

“Now,” he said, pulling a third knife from his boot. “What do you say to my  _offer_  now?”

_Cindarr climbed into the cab of the loader. He lifted down a spare helmet and carefully deposited the kitten in its padded interior. “Don’t worry, little one,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of you now.”  
_

_He twisted the starter and the loader juddered into life, rising unsteadily from the ground on its outdated repulsors.  
_

_“State your destination,” the computer requested.  
_

_“Site base,” the man replied. He shook his head. “I don’t know why they need people to run these things,” he sighed. “Don’t know why anyone needs me at all.” As the automatic pilot carried them down the runway towards the base of the huge building, he reached out and stroked the kitten’s small head._

Niska snatched the bottle off wood polish from the belt of her servant’s apron and flung it hard at Edral’s face. He recoiled in pain and alarm, clutching at his eyes. She tore her sleeve free and ran.

_Five loads of rubble and the job was hardly begun; in as much as there was a job there for people to do. All the workers had to do was supervise the loaders and call for a tech if they broke down.  
_

_On the last run, there was trouble.  
_

_“Computer, emergency stop!” Cindarr ordered. The loader jerked to a halt. He leaped out and ran down the alley where he had seen…  
_

_Three men – young toughs from the richer districts with too much money and no discipline – were menacing a young woman. She was local; poor, in other words, just like Cindarr.  
_

_“Leave her alone!” Cindarr roared.  
_

_The three toughs turned. They backed off fast when Cindarr charged them, allowing the woman to make a run for it, but then one of them pulled a stun-gun from his pocket and Cindarr felt a jolt like a physical impact smash through his chest and he fell to the ground, paralysed._

“I’m going to kill you, wench!” Edral roared.

Niska didn’t bother to answer, she just ran.

_His pockets empty and his body and ego bruised, Cindarr scraped himself off the pavement and staggered back to the loader.  
_

_“Mew.”  
_

_“Like I said,” Cindarr sighed. “I’m not much good for anything. It’s all machines and stun guns. Computer, resume course.”  
_

_The loader lifted up and began to move once more, but then the computer began to wail. “Power loss! Power loss!”  
_

_“Not again,” Cindarr groaned. He turned to reach for the radio, but what he saw through the window stopped him dead. “The three suns,” he gasped.  
_

_The loader began to tip towards the ground, right into the path of a car coming the other way. “I can’t control it!” Cindarr cried._

A door stood ajar and Niska darted through it. She knew that she should not, but Edral was getting closer every moment and his threats had lost none of their savage sincerity.

She pushed the door closed behind her and looked around for somewhere that she could hide. And then she stopped, for never had she expected to behold such a sight as met her eyes in the heart of Castle Darkstorm.

_Cindarr fought his way free of the loader. All around was chaos, with vehicles crashing out of a sky turned dark and brooding by the alignment of the three suns of Prysmos. Reaching back into the cab, Cindarr retrieved the kitten. It didn’t look as though there would be any more work today, so he made his way cautiously home.  
_

_The lights weren’t working and the refrigerator was off. So far as Cindarr could see, the power for the entire block was out. The food in the fridge would spoil fast, so he poured milk for the cats – including the new kitten – and let them have some cold meat as well as their usual food.  
_

_He made a note to get some candles tomorrow and then went to bed early._

The room was a riot of colour and form, with bright tapestries hanging on the walls, their trailing edges torn to shreds by the cats which covered every flat or nearly-flat surface. Wooden sculptures stood here and there, ranging in size from an exquisite tree taller than Niska, to a life-sized apple so perfect that Niska felt herself tempted to bite into it.

On the central table stood a magnificent model of a castle, larger and airier than Castle Darkstorm. It had been constructed from tiny, delicately-shaped pieces of wood. A set of delicate knives and a pile of wood-shavings showed quite clearly that each piece had been made here, by the same hand that had created the model, but who in Castle Darkstorm would have taken the time to do such a thing?

One of the cats rubbed against her ankles and Niska stooped to gather it up. “Hello,” she said softly. The cat nuzzled her face and licked her nose. Niska giggled and then froze; she suddenly knew she had made too much noise.

_In the morning, Cindarr went down to the shop for candles.  
_

_“Credit machines aren’t working,” the shopkeeper said, “but I’ll let you have a pack and some cat food if you help me board up the windows.” So Cindarr did that; and it felt good. His father had taught him to work with his hands and the skill and strength had never left him.  
_

_As he walked home he came across the same three youths from the day before. This time they were harassing an old man, but this time their stun guns were not working.  
_

_That felt good to, especially when the old man said thank you._

Edral burst into the room. “So!” he barked, causing the cats to scatter in fear. “Breaking into a Lord’s chambers! Stealing, no doubt. Niska, you could be in a lot of trouble if I were to report this.”

The cat squirmed in Niska’s arms, sensing her tension. Gently, she set it down on the floor. “Then report me,” she said. “I’ll never give you what you want.”

“Oh, but you will,” he chuckled, moving towards her.

At that moment, the door to the inner chamber swung open and a huge form lumbered through.

“M-my Lord Cindarr!” Edral gasped. “This girl…”

“I saw everything,” Cindarr rumbled. “Get out.”

“But…”

Cindarr leaped forward with a shout of rage. There was a swirl of green light and then a mighty ape, its fur that same vivid green, had Edral by the ankle and was swinging him through the air. It lumbered to the door and flung the guardsman out, before rounding on Niska.

“I shall go at once, my Lord,” Niska mumbled, keeping her head down, but although the ape turned back into Lord Cindarr, he stayed by the door, blocking her way. “My Lord,” she said softly.

“What is your name?”

“I…” Niska was taken aback. No Lord had ever asked that before. “Niska,” she said.

“Are you alright, Niska?”

“Yes,” she gasped. “Thanks to you, my Lord.”

Cindarr nodded his massive head. “I want you to do something for me in return,” he said.

Niska’s heart sank.  _Out of the frying pan, into the fire,_  she thought. “My Lord…” she began.

“You like cats,” he said.

“What? I mean, pardon, my Lord?”

“You like cats? They like you,” he noted.

“Oh. Yes,” she said. “I like cats.”

Cindarr nodded again. “Will you look after my cats?” he asked. “I’m not always around. I’ll clear it with the housekeeper.”

“Oh,” she said again. “Yes. I’d love to. Thank you.”

“Thank  _you_ ,” Cindarr said.

_Cindarr hammered another board into place in the barricade.  
_

_“Will it hold, my Lord?” Jethro asked.  
_

_“For now,” Cindarr replied. “And I’ve asked you not to call me lord.”  
_

_Jethro shrugged unapologetically. A librarian, he would have been easy prey to the gangs without Cindarr and his loyalty was unflinching. “Everyone has a lord now,” he said. “If we don’t, the other districts will decide we’re weak. If you’re our lord, they won’t dare attack.”  
_

_Cindarr shook his head.  
_

_“We need you,” Jethro said. Cindarr smiled; he liked the sound of that._

The girl smiled; Cindarr smiled. It felt good to be needed.


	6. Falling

Virulina was the most dangerous of the Darkling Lords; Arzon truly believed that. If he had been challenged, he would have said that that was why he spent so much time watching her. For a while he truly believed that as well.

The lady of Virulis enjoyed spending time on her balcony; she seemed to like the view of the Androsar plains. It gave Arzon plenty of opportunity to spy on her meetings with other Darkling Lords, with her commanders and her advisers. When she left her plans lying on the table, he could not resist.

The eagle swooped down; the man landed on the balcony and bent over the table, studying the plans. They showed seige engines; cliff-scaling engines designed to attack Arzon's own people. Anxious, he lifted the first sheet to study the second. This bore only a single word:

SURPRISE!

With a sharp snap, a net canopy shot out over the balcony and weighted nets dropped to each side, penning Arzon in. Behind him, the doors slid open and he turned, axe in hand.

"You always suspect the worst of me, Arzon," Virulina chuckled, "but really, if I were going to knock you on the head you wouldn't have heard me coming." The Lady of Virulis wore a long, indigo silk robe with her shark totem emblazoned on the breast and she held a glass of wine in each hand.

Arzon held the axe out in front of him. "What is this?" he demanded.

"A rather cheeky sparkling Malois," she replied. "I recently acquired a little village that produces it."

"Acquired? You're talking about the village you took by storm last month?"

"Storm is such a dramatic phrase," she chuckled. "I offered them the protection of my army."

"From your army!"

"Life is all about cycles and symmetry," Virulina laughed. She held out one of the glasses. "And the wine is excellent." When he did not lower the axe, she held both hands out to her sides. "Would you really use that on an unarmed woman?"

Arzon tried to outstare her and failed. He lowered the axe and hung it back at his belt and, when Virulina held out the glass, took it almost just to have something to hold in place of the axe.

"Just one drink," Virulina begged. "And then I'll lift the canopy and you can go." She held up her glass. "Cheers?"

Reluctantly, Arzon lifted his glass to hers. It didn't seem like very much at the time; the fatal moments so rarely do.


	7. Circle of Light

It has been a long road to bring us here; to bring me here. My comrades are all gone now, of course. Brave Leoric, wise Ectar and crafty Witterquick; mighty Cryotek and valiant Galadria. And Arzon, of course; poor Arzon.

Time heals all wounds, but time also gathers everything in. It has claimed all of my friends, as soon it will claim me. I am the last of the old order; the last of the original Spectral Knights who answered Merklynn's call in the aftermath of the Great Catalcysm. 

Yet, before I breathe my last, I shall see the sacred bond which is dying renewed. I shall see my son join the ranks of the Spectral Knights and take my place at court.

Ferox came of age this year and undertook his quest to Iron Mountain, daring the tests that all must dare in order to earn their totem. He returned from his quest with the totem of the wolf, just as I did so long ago, and with the gift of technology. I could not have been prouder.

Today, he will be knighted by Lord Artus and take his seat at the table, alongside the other children of my comrades, and the others who have joined them over the years, as the protectorate of the Spectral Knights has expanded.

He kneels before Lord Artus and receives the accolade. The totems on the breastplates of the knights flare, the light shimmers at the centre of the great table and radiates out in a brilliant ring.

The Circle of Light shines forth, unbroken.


End file.
